


Tumblr Shorts

by mklutz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - High School, Dubious Consent, Fake/Pretend Relationship, IN SPACE!, M/M, Magic, Magic Made Them Do It, Meet-Cute, Online Dating, Pen Pals, Sex Shop, Soul Bond, Soulmarks, names on skin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:44:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mklutz/pseuds/mklutz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A (series??) of tumblr shorts updated whenever</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Fake Dating in Space AU**

"Go with me on this one," Stiles mutters lowly, grabbing Derek’s hand between both of his own and, what the  _fuck_ , kissing his fingers.  ”This is my betrothed,” he says, beaming at the Ambassador.  

The Ambassador looks skeptical. “How long have you been together?” he asks. “Surely you would prefer someone with more …. _experience._ ”

Stiles’ hands clench around Derek’s and he takes pity on him, gently extracting his hand in order to reel Stiles in, pull him back against his chest and nuzzle at the soft skin behind his ear, eyes on the Ambassador and hands low on Stiles’ hips. “Long enough,” he says, and pauses to drag his cheek against Stiles. Stiles, who has gone limp, sinking back against Derek and tilting his head to offer up more skin.  ”And he’s more than satisfied.”

Of course that’s when Lydia comes over, her expression set to Charming Diplomat.  ”Ambassador!” she says brightly, “I see you’ve met our Chief Science Officer and head of Security.  Quite the couple, aren’t they?”

 _If you ruin this for me I will end you_ , she sends silently to Derek.  Judging by the way Stiles stiffens up, he’s received a similar message.

"When it’s true love, you just  _know_ , you know?” Stiles asks tilting his head back to beam at Derek.

Derek is so fucked.


	2. Fake Dating Amnesia Werewolf Symposium AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To avoid potential pack-relations issues, Derek and Stiles pretend to date at the annual werewolf symposium, but when an emissary in training with a head cold accidentally sneezes out some magic at dinner in the main dining room, they get amnesia and assume they’re mates.

After the Druids have sorted everything out and the dining hall has been cleared, after most of the wolves have slunk back to their hotel rooms to shake off the embarrassment, Derek finally returns to their room. Stiles is sprawled out, sleeping on the double bed at an angle, arms clutching at Derek's pillow. 

Even from the doorway, Derek can see the line of purpling bruises tracing the long lines of Stiles' throat; the red rash of stubble burn around his mouth. Derek clenches his hands, digs his nails into his palms before forcibly stretching out his fingers and taking a deep breath to try and calm down.

It's a mistake.

The room smells like _them_. Not just like Derek-and-Stiles, who yes, had been sharing a bed for the conference, but like Derek-and-Stiles, who maybe always shared a bed. Stiles had done him a favor by pretending to be his mate for the conference. He'd put up with Derek keeping him close during boring networking events and scent-marking him in front of other wolves. He'd shared the bed and agreed to wear Derek's sweater over his shirt, to hold hands at the large dinner during last night's presentations. 

If it hadn't been for the Gonzalez Pack emissary and his stupid head-cold, it would've been fine. But it's not. 

He can smell it from the sheets, from Stiles' skin, smooth and pale and thoroughly, _personally_ scent-marked by Derek. He remembers the vivid euphoria of knowing that Stiles was his mate, really his, _only_ his, and making sure Stiles felt just as ecstatic. He remembers bringing Stiles off twice - with his mouth, and then his fingers, too - before he even got inside him. Remembers leeching away the faint edge of pain and biting down at the join of his shoulder, fervent in his adoration.

He remembers, now, that it was all a lie. With the magic dissipated, Derek is clear-headed again.

On the bed, Stiles stirs, blinking his eyes open slowly, and catching Derek's gaze. "Hey," he says, voice low and rough from sleep. "Where did you go?"

Except somehow Stiles is still under the spell.


	3. Fake Dating Amnesia Werewolf Symposium in Space AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean, Alexscat asked for it. Spoilers in the end notes.

When Captain Lydia assigned him to go with Derek and Laura to the conference he'd assumed she meant to observe. After all, it's not like Stiles' background as a science officer was going to be very helpful while the Lycan people hammered out an agreement about whether or not they should allow more of their children to enter the Academy. 

But as they're pulling the shuttle craft up for docking, Laura gestures at his uniform. "You're going to need to smell more like Derek if this is going to work, you know," she says casually.  "No one's going to believe you're his mate if you walk around smelling like that."

"Uhhhh," Stiles stutters, totally professional, "Sorry, what?"

Her expression flattens out. "You didn't even read the briefing notes, did you?"

"I mean, I skimmed them?" he tries. She glares at him. "Okay, I skimmed the first page. In my defence, I thought I was just here to observe?"

"You're here to _be_ observed," Laura hisses at him, rolling her eyes. "The Elders don't care where our people study, they care about repopulation. You're here as Derek's mate, so sell it." 

***

He's sharing a berth with Derek, obviously, though it adjoins with Laura's room. Derek immediately circles the room twice, dragging his palm across various surfaces before heading into the attached bath. Lycans, he remembers from interspecies relations, frequently scent-mark their territory, no matter how temporary.

Stiles shrugs and unfolds his carry-all he can see that someone (Kira, probably, and maybe Isaac just because he's a dick) has replaced half the clothes inside with pieces that clearly belong to Derek, and a few things that might be newly replicated.  He picks up an unusually designed dress uniform shirt, holds it up against himself to try and see how it works. The neckline is... weird.

"Hey, Derek," he calls out, "Is this yours?" It seems a little small to fit Derek, but who knows. Sometimes his clothes seem like he replicated them a size too small. Derek comes back out of the bath, dragging his hand completely unsubtly up and down the door before freezing halfway across the floor. "I mean, the neckline is kind of weird - I don't know what you guys do for ...formal... hey, are you okay?"

Because Derek is dropping some series fang, eyes bright blue for a minute. "No," he says shortly before visibly working to get himself back under control. "No, that's-- for you." He swallows. "You should wear it to the reception."

"Are you sure?" Stiles asks again, dropping the shirt back onto the carry-all. "Because you got all," he mimes fangs, "and Lydia will jettison me into the vacuum if I fuck this up."

Derek rolls his eyes at that. "It's fine. I wasn't expecting it."

 _Wasn't expecting what?_ Stiles wonders, but doesn't push it in case it was something in the briefing notes he hadn't read.

***

He's right about the shirt though. It's weird. It's a little tight, even on Stiles, and the neckline is low and asymmetric, and if Stiles had boobs he would feel almost as if he were on display. It's a fine line as it is, because at Laura's insistence, Derek had spent a good half-hour before the reception rubbing his face and hands all over Stiles, resulting in some pretty intense beard burn along his neck and collarbones. The red prickling of it is incredibly obvious thanks to the cut of the shirt, and Stiles tries to act casual about it instead of showing how utterly conspicuous he feels.

"Nice touch," Laura had said with a raised eyebrow before they headed to the observation deck. "Very thorough." Derek had squirmed a little but kept close to Stiles anyway. For the mission, obviously.

The reception is pretty swank. They've dimmed the lights on the observation deck of the space station where the symposium is taking place, the better to highlight the stark contrast between the dark skies outside and the six moons that orbit the nearby planet. It's a beautiful view, and the decorations inside the deck are minimal so as not to distract from it.

"Stay close," Derek had whispered into his ear before the transporter doors as hissed open, and he had for the first hour. 

But they'd separated briefly so Stiles could grab them both another drink, and he'd been waylaid on his return trip by twin alphas with a lot of questions about how a mostly human (75% earthling, 25% everything else) science officer had scored an invite.

"Oh, I'm here with the Hales," he says, choosing his words carefully. Lycans have the uncanny ability to hear lies rather than detect them, no telempathy required.

Twin One looks suitably impressed. The Hale name has a lot of weight behind it. "The Hales are here? Is that them, over there?" he gestures over Stiles' shoulder but when he turns to look it's not them. 

"No, sorry. I really need to get back to my- to Derek," he stumbles. "My Derek."  He takes a sip of his drink to cover the slip. "Nice meeting you," he says over their protests before slipping back into the crowd.

Maybe it's the fact that he's the only (mostly) human on board, or maybe he's had one too many Romulan Ales, but he feels a little off, a little fuzzy as he searches Derek out in the crowd.  He finds him after a minute or so and slips his drink into his hand before tucking himself under Derek's arm and breathing in, deeply. He's so tired.

"We believe very strongly in the potential benefits of a closer relationship with Starfleet," Laura is saying to someone.  Stiles' eyes are heavy. "You can see Derek has gained quite a lot from the experience." Stiles breathes in deeply, rubbing his nose against Derek's shoulder. He smells so  _nice_. Has Derek always smelled so nice?

"I can see that," the other person says wryly. "You make a convincing argument."

"It's an issue we feel very strongly about, for obvious reasons," she replies. Stiles feels very strongly about it, too. He feels very strongly that Derek is the best part of Starfleet, the best at keeping Stiles on his feet, because his legs feel funny and he's just _really tired_ all of a sudden.

There's a crash, somewhere, the sound of glass breaking, and someone calling his name. That's the last thing he remembers before he passes out.

***

"He's waking up," he can hear Derek say softly. "Get the Doctor." Someone is holding his hand. Probably it's Derek. Derek's great like that. 

"You're the best," Stiles slurs, blinking his eyes open. They still feel heavy, but he's warm and holding hands with Derek, so everything must be okay. "Definitely my favourite," he adds. People need to tell Derek how great he is more often. Like, all the time. Maybe he can work on that. 

"Do you remember who did this to you?" Derek asks, and that doesn't make sense.

"Did what to me?" Stiles asks. He pulls Derek's hand closer to his face and rubs his cheek against it. Derek shouldn't ever look sad or worried like that.

"Someone drugged you," Derek says, his face still too serious. "You're in the med bay on the station. Dr. Deaton is on his way from the Beacon."

"I'm in your heart," Stiles replies, because that sounds a lot better than being in a med bay. "We should get married."

Derek looks confused. "Uh, what?"

"I know we're mates, but my dad probably wants a big wedding, earth-style. The works," Stiles tries to gesture what 'the works' entails but it's hard when he's holding Derek's hand, and also his limbs seem a little out of his control. He frowns then. "Wait, was I supposed to let you ask first? I don't know if that's a Lycan thing."

"I--" Derek falters. "I think we should uh, wait for Dr. Deaton to take a look at you before we make any big decisions," he says carefully.

Stiles sighs happily, strokes his thumb along the side of Derek's hand. "You're the best," he re-iterates. "I'm so glad you're my mate."

For some reason that just makes Derek frown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less like Amnesia, more like Ethan and Aiden drug Stiles to try and make him susceptible to (enamoured with) the first werewolf he comes into contact with because they are against Lycan-interspecies matings or something because politics, blah, whatever. Stiles basically forgets he isn't actually mated to Derek instead though.


	4. Feast Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunktuesdaze and I were discussing a world where Derek was a rich hermit unsocialized weirdo who didn’t know how to express affection so he bought Beacon Hills and made the currency feature Stiles’s face, and I made it weirder by having Derek declare mandatory feast days in Stiles’s honor.

Everyone knows that Beacon Hills is almost entirely owned by the Hale family, but it’s not like anyone ever sees any of them. Stiles has heard, of course, that most of the family lives in New York, a few in Europe. Probably there aren’t even any Hales living in California. Probably.

Which makes it extra weird that the Hale’s lawyer posted an announcement in the Beacon Hills Beacon about a new festival which just happens to fall on Stiles’ birthday and involves Curly Fries Smackdown.

"Scott, you don’t understand - twelve different kinds of curly fries to try, and then you vote for the best one and every restaurant in town has to put it on the menu for a year. Until the next Curly Fry Smackdown!” 

Because Scott has wrong tastebuds, he mostly just looks confused. “Don’t you think this is a bit… weird?” he asks, gesturing at the paper. 

"I think you mean awesome,” Stiles corrects him, generously. ”It’s literally a festival of my favourite things.” He skims down the list of activities again. Lacrosse, obviously, except for some reason there’s a rule that people with ‘jack’ in their name aren’t allowed to play. Free coffee at the coffee tasting tent. A tent for a LAN party of just dungeon raids in Stiles’ favourite MMO. ”Best. Birthday. Ever,” he adds.

Across the coffee shop, hot hermit dude looks lost in thought - he’s got to be staring at nothing because otherwise, he’d be staring at Stiles and that’s pretty much impossible. Stiles waves at him and hot hermit dude startles, snapping out of it and turning bright red before hurrying out of the shop, leaving his coffee behind.

Oh well. Who knows, maybe he’ll see him at the festival and finally get to talk to him.


	5. More fake boyfriend Derek Hale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott thinks he probably owes Derek big for this. Way to commit, Derek.

So obviously most of the story is Derek being the perfect boyfriend without Stiles ever meeting him. He talks Stiles up to people, smiles and ducks his head bashfully when someone asks about him. Thanks to Lydia spreading the word and Derek's solid performance, people are hella jealous of how in love with Stiles Derek is.

Scott figures Derek can tell all these great stories about Stiles because he's been sitting behind Scott in History for the last few years and has probably heard Scott talk about him a lot.

And sure, that's true, but Derek Hale, star player of the BHHS baseball team, has been half in love with Stiles since the seventh grade, even when he had that dumb haircut, even though Stiles has literally never noticed him.

It's really a combination of what Laura calls his "A+ creeper skills" and the lottery of werewolf genetics that mean that Derek has heard lots about Stiles. He can't help tuning in when he hears someone mention him. If baseball practice didn't get in the way, he'd probably be at lacrosse practice, watching Stiles charge the goal and run laps. 

Instead he settles for going to the games whenever he can. Stiles doesn't get to play much, but it's easy to find him sitting on the bench and so far no one except his sisters has noticed that he's not really watching the games.  
Derek tells anyone who will listen about how Stiles could really be a game-changer if Finstock let him on the field, and brags about how the only person with better grades is Lydia Martin, and smiles and gets distracted when anyone asks what exactly is so attractive about Stiles.

"Everything," he says whenever they snap him out of it. 

Scott thinks he probably owes Derek big for this. Way to commit, Derek.


	6. Shopkeeper Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> arguenot asked:  
> Look, I know it's been done five hundred times, but I can never get enough of Derek as a shopkeeper and Stiles making endless excuses to come by, orrr Stiles as a model/actor and Derek with his hopeless weird crush on him, longing from afar

"Do you really need—" Derek stops himself. "Never mind."

"Huh?" Stiles - he’d given Derek his name the third time he’d come to the shop, blurted it out, maybe accidentally - paused, hands hovering over the box on the counter.

Derek is an idiot. This guy wants to spend money and he’s going to stop him, just because he’s cute and nice, and has basically told Derek his whole life story. “It’s just, uh, you already bought this one?”

It wasn’t supposed to come out as a question. Stiles looks down at the box on the counter, which proudly proclaims 12 speeds!! 16 vibration patterns!! ”Are you sure?” he asks.

Derek swallows, his throat dry. “In pink.” 

"Oh." 

"Unless, I mean, I guess you could be buying it for your… your partner. Matching set?" Sometimes Derek wishes he could just stop talking, which is funny, because usually it’s hard to get a word in edge-wise with his friends. With Stiles, too, though at this particular moment, Stiles isn’t saying much. His cheeks are flushed and ruddy, and his mouth hangs open a little. Derek forces his gaze away from his mouth, pink and bright where he’d run his tongue across it a minute ago. 

"No," Stiles blurts out. "There’s no one— oh, fuck it." He grabs Derek by the front of his shirt and yanks him across the counter. Derek’s expecting a fist, hoping for a rough kiss. Instead, Stiles is soft and sweet, just gently presses his lips to Derek’s. He can feel Stiles’ eyelashes brush against his cheek. "I’m really terrible at this," he says when he pulls back for air, still gripping Derek by his shirt-front.

"Seemed pretty good to me," Derek says, already leaning forward for more.

Stiles laughs, quiet in the otherwise empty store. ”At asking you out, I meant.” 

"Still seemed pretty good to me," Derek says, and has trouble with the second and third kisses because they’re both smiling stupidly.

*

At the wedding, Scott will tell everyone how Stiles spent over a thousand dollars on sex toys he never opened just to try and score a date with Derek.

"Worth it," Stiles will say with a grin, and steal another kiss.


	7. soul marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> if you're still taking prompts, how about something like an alive!Hales AU where Derek is told to "stay away from that trouble-making sheriff's kid-- no really Derek, you need to think about your future" but he's like "he is my future???" so obvs they have to sneak around or something idk
> 
> So I had this idea, started writing, and then went to bed, and by the time I woke up two or three other instances of it appeared on my dash! Clearly some Jungian Unconscious business happening in TW fandom. Not exactly what you asked for, but here it is.

The Hales knew what the Stilinski boy was the day he was born. In a small town like Beacon Hills it didn’t take long for the gossip to spread: John and Claudia Stilinski’s new born boy had a wolf’s paw print right over his heart. 

"You stay away from the Stilinskis," his mother told him. "We don’t need the Sheriff to find out about us."

No problem. Derek was five and had zero interest in a howling infant. He was more interested in the foreign letters that had appeared on his chest that afternoon.

A decade later his family had burned to death and it was his fault. He’d be doing his soul mate a favour by staying away from them, he figured. Good thing they probably lived somewhere in Europe. Somewhere safe. 

*

Derek doesn’t think about his soul mate for almost twenty years. Not until Derek hauls him and Allison out of the lake, soaking, shivering, and up onto the shore. 

"We have to get them out of those clothes!" Scott pants, kicking the last, bloody scrap of lake monster back where it came from. Good riddance.

Stiles rolls over onto his front and coughs up a bunch of water. “Got—got a change in the Jeep,” he gasps out. Allison heaves for breath beside him. ”Spares.”

The cold snap had come on suspicious quickly, and Derek suspects now that the lake monster is taken care of it’ll dissipate just as fast. 

He nods at Scott, who pulls Allison to her feet, takes her weight as they start limping back to where they had parked earlier. Derek is a little less gentle with Stiles, but keeps him pulled close against his side, keeps his arm wrapped tight around his shoulders to ward off the chill.

"S-s-so much for sp-sp-spring break," Stiles stutters. Derek shifts his weight, tucks Stiles in against his chest to free his hands and open the rear window. He’s much better equipped to handle a little cold and wet than Stiles or Allison. For once, Derek didn’t get thrown into the lake, or through a window, or a wall. 

Inside there’s a duffle bag. He hauls it out and unzips it. “Past you was a genius, dude,” Scott grins. There’s more than one change of clothes in there, and Stiles hasn’t quit his habit of wearing way too many layers. There’s more than enough for both he and Allison to have a clean, dry change of clothes. 

Stiles disentangles himself from Derek and rubs weakly at his arms. “Well? Are you going to turn around or what?” He asks, petulant.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Start stripping. This is no time for modesty.” Behind Stiles, Allison is already struggling out of her shirt and handing it to Scott. 

"Maybe I’m shy!" Stiles whines, but follows suit. Both of his shirts are stuck together with water. Derek bends to pull a long-sleeved sweater out of the bag and almost misses it, though as soon as he sees even the curve of the bottom of it he thinks it would be impossible to mistake.

He drops the sweater and reaches out to pull the wet shirts the rest of the way off. “Th-th-thanks, b-b-but are you g-g-going to g-give me a new sh-shirt or just-t-t make m-me feel s-super awkward about this?” 

Stiles’ teeth are chattering. Distantly, Derek knows that’s a good sign but his brain is completely stalled, fixated on the large paw print in bright, electric blue placed possessively over Stiles’ heart.

"D-Derek?" Stiles tries again. When he doesn’t get an answer he twists around to get a look at Scott. "Buddy? Little help?"

Derek doesn’t know or care what Scott does or says. He can’t process. He reaches out and presses his palm to it as Stiles tries to squirm away. “D-dude! That’s p-p-personal!” he whines. That finally gets Derek’s attention. He snaps his eyes back up to meet Stiles; can feel his eyes flare the same electric blue as Stiles’ mark. 

"I know."

*

Eventually, Derek gets his shit together. Helps Stiles struggle into an old pair of sweatpants and then the passenger seat of the Jeep. Scott will drive Allison back to their apartment, he knows. All he can focus on is making sure Stiles is safe, is somewhere the wolf inside him knows inside and out. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise that they wind up at the little house he built out on the preserve. Stiles knocked out not long into the drive, face pressed to the glass, breathing and heart rate steady as Derek cranked the heat to keep him warm. He only stirs when Derek cuts the engine.

"This isn’t my dad’s house," he mumbles. 

"I know," Derek says again, and climbs out of the car, makes his way around to open Stiles’ door and help him down. It’s a bit of a drop, and he’d spent years watching Stiles flail his way in and out of the Jeep. He’d grown up and into his long limbs; become less gangly and more lean at College, but that one thing hadn’t changed. 

He keeps an arm around him as he guides Stiles up the front steps and into the house; down the hall and leaves him in the bathroom while he hefts his winter duvet out of the closet and smooths it over top of his lighter, summer duvet. Keeps an ear out for Stiles to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep standing up.

"Where are you going to sleep?" Stiles asks, stumbling toward the bed. Now that Derek has already seen it, he seems less self-conscious about the mark; strips off his sweater and climbs under the blankets and duvets with a sigh. 

Derek takes his distraction to strip down to his boxer-briefs and slip in under the covers, pulls Stiles, sleepy and pliable, in close. He's clearly too tired to talk about it tonight, not wired the way he is when he knows a threat is still on their shared to-do list. Already his heart rate is slowing into the steady rhythm of sleep. Derek presses his hand to the paw mark again, curls his fingers to match up with the claws.

"Right here," he says quietly. 

Stiles doesn't hear him, not yet. Maybe tomorrow.


	8. Harry Potter Yule Ball AU (sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eeames asked: um um um, sterek in any harry potter setting??? with the bonus of his many many older sisters making an appearance????? perhaps a yule ball????????? and his sisters trying to find him a date?????????????????? and making a case for each of the guys of their choice?????? (derek is hufflepuff, non negotiable)
> 
> Classic Eeames. Um, this kind of grew wings and got away from me, as Harry Potter fills are wont to do.

**Year Six**

Stiles had heard, of course, that over in the UK, the wizarding school was off in the mountains or the forest or something. Somewhere dark and cool, which sounded nice right about now. Not like America. No, America had to go and put their wizarding school in the middle of the desert so they could claim any muggles who saw it had sun stroke. What about the students who had sun stroke?

"You don’t have sun stroke," Scott said, rolling his eyes. "And we’ve only been out here for like five minutes. The game’s barely started" 

Stiles tucked his wand up his sleeve and muttered ventus, sending a small gust through his robes. The relief only lasted for a few seconds. “You can barely even see Kira,” he huffed. 

It was true. Quidditch was one of the worst sports to watch live unless you had special glasses or the stadium seats went really high up. All they could see of the players was the dark outline of their robes swishing by over-head. If it weren’t for their house colours, he’d have zero idea what was going on. Someone had at the start of the year the bright idea of having Greenberg announce the games. 

"The rivalry between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor is going strong as Kira Yukimura slips the quaffle past Jackson Whittmore! And she’s not even a Chaser! Ten points for Gryffindor!" Greenberg yelled, two minutes after the play. There was a half-hearted follow up cheer from everyone dressed in red and gold. They had already celebrated and moved on to the next play several minutes ago. 

"I’m pretty sure Hufflepuff doesn’t have a rivalry with any of the houses. They’re too boring."

"Says the guy here to creep on a member of their team." Scott elbowed him in the side as he said it, though he kept his face tilted up to follow the action. Scott was lucky. His mom had packed sunglasses for him this year. 

Stiles was stuck squinting under the hand he pressed to his forehead. He couldn’t even see if Derek, really. What was even the point of a game where you couldn’t ogle the players?

"Hey, squirt," someone behind him kicked him lightly. "Who’re you creeping on from Hufflepuff?" 

Stiles turned around to give them a piece of his mind but stopped short. It was Laura Hale, and she looked way, way too interested in his answer. As did Cora, Norah, and Aurora. 

"Uhhh, no one," he said, wide eyed. 

Laura leaned in closer. “It’s okay, you can tell us,” she said with a wicked smile that said the opposite. Classic Slytherin. “We’re super trustworthy.” 

And that was the last thing Stiles remembered before everything went black.

*

The first thing he was aware of, other than the throbbing of his skull was someone hissing, “You can feel free to leave any time, Laura.”

"Oh no, I mean, really, it was my fault he didn’t see it coming," Laura replied. So it was Laura and Derek, then. Weird. "I really have an obligation to be here. What’s your reason, little boo?"

Stiles snorted at that. Derek may have three older sisters and one terrifying younger sister, but no one in their right mind would call him little. 

"Hey, he’s awake! How’re you feeling, Stilinski?" Laura asked. 

Stiles pressed his hand to his nose to try and alleviate the steady ache, but it only made it worse. “Like I took a bludger to the head,” he groaned.

"Derek was right, you are smart,” Laura said, sounding smug, and probably sarcastic. He was a little fuzzy just then. ”You gonna try opening your eyes any time soon?”

"No," Stiles said after a moment. "I think I’ll just stay like this until the stabbing pain goes away." 

Derek made a hurt sound, which made zero sense, because Stiles was the one in agony here. (Okay, maybe not agony, but it hurt a lot and where the hell was Scott? “Where’s Scott?” he asked. 

There was a scraping sound as Laura stood up and excused herself. “Peter sent him away,” Derek said, pressing a cold compress to Stiles’ forehead. It felt heavenly. He sighed a little in relief. “He was distracted by his girlfriend. She said sorry, by the way. Feels really badly about the whole thing.”

"He finally got the guts to talk to her? That’s awesome." Sure, it took Kira apparently beaning Stiles in the head with a super heavy quidditch ball, but anything for his best bro, right?

"Is that why you were at the game?" Derek asked quietly. He turned over the cold compress to the cool side. 

"Sort of," Stiles hedged. No sense ruining his two year plan by admitting that he was nursing a stupid crush on the only Hale to wind up in Hufflepuff. 

"I heard he was there because of a crush," Laura said from the doorway. "Anyone we know?"

"That’s a question for whcih the answer can wait until after I have examined Mr. Stilinski," Dr. Deaton said. Stiles could have kissed him. Metaphorically speaking.

*

Derek sat beside Stiles the whole time, still dressed in his full quidditch gear, glaring at Laura who seemed way too happy with the whole situation. Maybe she was really into other people’s pain. Who knew. Sure, Stiles was a Slytherin, too, but Laura was a seventh year with a wicked streak. 

After, Deaton agreed that while Stiles seemed okay they should keep him over night for observation, and Stiles pleaded exhaustion. He didn’t wait to see Derek and Laura leave, just closed his eyes and let himself fall back asleep.

*

He woke up in the middle of the night. The school might be basically on fire from the desert sun during the day, but at night it was freezing cold and Stiles was used to hauling another blanket up in the middle of the night. But tonight, despite being alone in the infirmary without his usual stash of extra duvets, he was miraculously comfortable. 

He reached out a hand in the dark. Maybe Scott had asked Deaton to give him another blanket. But his fingers met fur, not fabric. 

"I didn’t know there were dogs here," Stiles mumbled. It definitely felt like a dog. A big one, sure, but warm and thickly furred, breathing steadily. Stiles dug his fingers into the fur and pet the dog with long, steady strokes. "Thanks, buddy. I always wake up freezing in the night here." 

The dog huffed, and Stiles could feel it’s tail thump twice against the bed. Stiles fell back to sleep to the steady in-out of it’s breath and the warm weight against his legs.

 

**Year Seven**

Okay, so Stiles had super embarrassed himself last year with the whole bludger to the head thing the first time he actually got to talk to Derek. That had been bad. But this year was going to be different! He had a two year plan. This year Derek was representing Hufflepuff in the annual House Tournament (a friendlier, less deadly version of the Triwizard Tournament after threats of lawsuits from several parents a few years back) and Stiles was totally cheering him on.

Except, obviously, for when he was helping Scott represent Gryffindor and Lydia represent Slytherin. (At least he wasn’t also helping anyone in Ravenclaw, right?) 

Between his classes and helping Scott and Lydia with the tournament he was pretty busy. He kept trying to get close to Derek, maybe find out if he was taking anyone to the Winter Solstice dance, but every time he saw him he was absolutely swarmed by his sisters. 

The only time he really saw him was in Muggle Studies, where Hufflepuff and Slytherin shared a class, and Derek sat on the other half of the room. It was a problem. 

Stiles had been fascinated by— (“Obsessed with,” Scott would correct him) — Derek since the first time he saw him on the Wizard Amtrack in first year. And Derek had the gall to come back every September looking even hotter than the previous year. What an asshole. 

”Mr. Stilinski,” Headmaster Martin said from right beside him, “With me.” Oops.

What did you do?? Lydia mouthed at him as he gathered his things. Stiles shrugged. Really it could be a whole lot of things. Stiles liked to keep busy, okay?

The walk to the Headmaster’s Office was long and silent. Lydia had definitely learned presence from her mother, who could one minute be laughing at a shared joke and the next strike someone silent with a single look. This was definitely one of the later moments.

"Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Stilinski?" she asked once the door was closed. She poured out two glasses of a fizzy drink and set one in front of him. 

"You want to give me extra house points for being incredibly gifted?" 

She hummed, and he took the pause to take a sip of his drink. Act casual. Find out what she actually knew so he didn’t incriminate himself.

"I am interested in your inter-house relationships," she said, apropos of nothing. "I expected that you would help Lydia with her research - not that she needs it - and your friend Scott, of course, in Gryffindor. Hufflepuff though? I didn’t see that coming."

"Huffle-what?" Stiles hadn’t actually managed to help Derek at all, or even say a word to him lately, not with his contingent of sister-bodyguards constantly by his side. Laura Hale still terrified him, okay? Not to even mention Norah, Cora, and Aurora. Stiles was smart. He saw four girls with dark hair and green eyes coming at him and he got the heck out of dodge.

"You don’t know?" She asked. "For someone so smart you can be terribly unobservant."

Stiles felt slow, sluggish, more so than he usually did when trying to keep up with Lydia or her mom. Something was wrong.

"There it is," she said with a small smile. And then Stiles passed out.

*

"This is humiliating," Stiles muttered, twisting against his bonds. It was useless. Headmaster Martin had enchanted the ropes herself, and no one was a better spell-caster than her. 

"I think it’s romantic,” sighed Jackson. Apparently the spell they’d used to knock the four of them out had some weird side effects on parseltongues. Who knew?

The quidditch pitch, normally pretty sandy anyway, had been spelled full of high crests of desert sand covering a series of traps. The stands were packed with students cheering for their house champion and Stiles, Jackson, Kira, and Cora were tied to the goal posts. 

Actually that was a lie.There were only three goal posts, after all, so Jackson was just tied to a tall stake someone had popped up against the sand. That was the highlight, really, of being drugged and used as a damsel in distress for a school event. 

"I’m going to get so sunburned," Stiles muttered and tested the range of movement his fingers had. He didn’t have his wand on him (thanks, Headmaster Martin. No, really.) but maybe he could manage a little magic without it. Dire circumstances and all. 

Cora gave up trying to angle her head enough to gnaw her way free and growled, actually growled with frustration. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Greenberg announced, voice cast loud and wide across the space, "your champions have cleared five of the six tests presented for them and have only one final obstacle to overcome before they can rescue their— their special person? Coach, are you sure that’s what this is supposed to say?"

There was a squawk and a static jump of sound before Coach took over. “The last time I crossed the desert for love I lost a testicle to a diricawl, and it was not pretty, let me tell you. But so far none of our moderately talented champions have had that experience! Let’s hear it for them, people!”

A loud but somewhat confused cheer went up across the stands, though that could have had something to do with the three explosions just over the sand dunes in front of the goals. 

There was a pause as everyone held their breath. 

And then another three explosions. 

"Oh my god, this is going to take forever," Jackson whined. Clearly the potion was starting to wear off. He struggled against his bindings but wound up just sliding down the stake and landing with a dull thud against the sand. Stiles snickered. "Shut up, Stilinski!" Jackson snarled.

"Ugh, I should’ve known you’d be wasting energy arguing," Lydia huffed. Stiles turned to see her backing precariously down the sand dune. "Honestly. Boys." 

She made it down to level ground before turning around and taking a hesitant step forward. When nothing happened, she tossed her hair over one shoulder and clearly stated, “Funisio reverso,” with a neat flick of her wand. 

Cora’s ropes fell to the ground in an instant, and a cheer went up from the Syltherin contigent of the audience. “Slytherin continues to hold the lead!” Greenberg panted, “and I regain the lead in announcing! One hundred points to Slytherin for Lydia Martin taking first place in the hostage puzzle challenge!”

"Go team. Can you get me down now, Lyds? These ropes are killing me."

She gave him a distinctly unimpressed look. “You’ll have to wait for your champion. He shouldn’t be that far behind me, unless he’s completely unobservant in addition to not being very bright.” 

His champion? Scott, probably. They were best bros after all. 

The other three champions were backing cautiously down the dune together, though they all looked singed where Lydia was neatly pressed without a mark on her. “Dude, what happened?” Stiles asked. 

When he turned around, Scott looked a little embarrassed. “Lydia was the only one to figure out the riddle. If we tried to come at you head-on, there was something in the sand that set off an explosion.”

"We could only come at you backwards," Derek added, and whoa, when did get so close? "Are you okay?" He asked, pressing the back of his hand to Stiles’ cheek. "You look pink."

Stiles could feel himself flush further. “Yeah, uh, I don’t think Headmaster Martin put any sunscreen on me before she tied me up here.” 

Derek frowned and untied Stiles with a flick of his wand. “We’ll get you inside for a drink and some burn-paste,” he said, offering Stiles a hand. 

"Seventy-five points to Hufflepuff!" Greenberg cheered, "and fifty points to Gryffindor for second and third place respectively! Uh," he paused, "and uh, twenty-five points to Ravenclaw for fourth place. Sorry, Danny." 

Danny waved halfheartedly at the stands before frowning at Jackson, who was untied but still sat on the ground, complaining. Whatever. At least he got to sit for part of it. 

"Hey," Derek tugged on his hand. "Come on, you’re thirsty, right?"

”So thirsty,” Stiles agreed, following him off the pitch. 

*

By the next week, everyone knew that the next challenge wasn’t until after the dance, and that every champion had asked their challenge-hostage to be their date except Derek. 

Derek who, except for a few hours after the last challenge, was still constantly surrounded by his terrifying sisters. Stiles had taken one step towards he Hufflepuff table at lunch the other day and Aurora had whipped around and pinned him with a fierce look. As if there were some kind of limit on how many Slytherins could sit there. Rude.

Rude but effective, anyway. Stiles had slunk back to the Slytherin table and listened to Lydia talk about their arithmancy assignment. You’d think Cora would be sitting here with her, but no, she was still whispering furiously with Derek’s other sisters as Derek slouched in his seat. Stiles caught his eye across the tables and smiled at him and waved awkwardly. Derek’s shoulders visibly relaxed and he smiled back.

"If you don’t ask him he’s going to wind up going with someone else," Lydia said, changing topics mid-sentence.

"Huh?" Stiles froze. "I mean, uh, I …don’t know what you’re talking about?"

She gave him a pitying look. “Cora told me they’ve each got a centaur in the race, so to speak. So if you want to actually get anywhere with him, make a move already. Ugh, it’s not cute any more, Stiles, it’s just embarrassing. I can’t be friends with someone this obtuse.”

And with that she up and left the table, and Stiles, to it. 

He stared blankly across the room for a long minute. Sure, there had been indications that maybe Derek… but Stiles didn’t have a great track record when it came to romance. Or, any track record, really. 

He had to blink and refocus his eyes. Derek had climbed over the bench and taken Lydia’s seat. “Was what she said true?” he asked.

"What?" Stiles asked, still trying to catch up. "Who?"

"Lydia. Was what Lydia said true," Derek reiterated. 

He must have crazy good hearing to have caught that. The great hall was full of the clamour of eating and gossip. Stiles shook his head. “Yes? Wait, more importantly, I—-” he took a deep breath,”

"Will you go to the Winter Solstice dance with me?" they asked at the same time.

"What? Yes!" Stiles couldn’t stop grinning. He stood up and yelled across the room at Scott, "Bro! Derek’s going to the dance with me!"

Scott whooped, “That’s awesome, bro!”, followed immediately by a rise in noise as everyone else started talking loudly. 

Stiles felt his face flame, and dropped back into his seat. “Uh, sorry about that?”

Derek grinned at him, looking pleased. “It’s fine,” he said, reaching across the table and tugging Stiles’ hand into his own. “Saved me the trouble.”


	9. Get in Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek hates it when people cut in line.

“Hey,” Derek frowns, tapping on the guy’s shoulder. He squeezed his way up to the front like Derek hadn’t been waiting ten minutes to catch the bartender’s eye. “You can’t cut in line just because you’re hot.”

When the guy turns to gape at him he has the gall to be even hotter than Derek first assumed. _What is my life?_ Derek thinks to himself.

“Sorry, what?” the guy says after a minute. “Are you talking to me?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I get it, you’re out of my league,” he says, scowling, “I’m still not going to let you cut in line.”

The guy shoves his hand out for a handshake instead of getting back in line. “I’m Stiles,” he says breathlessly. “And you are?”

“Not falling for it,” Derek says briskly and finally manages to get hold of a bartender.

 

No one believes Stiles when he gets back to his table empty-handed.


	10. Knot My Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson builds a dating profile for Stiles.

Jackson builds a dating profile for Stiles. He does it mostly to be a dick, and partly because one time (one! time! Never again!) Stiles went to the bathroom without locking his computer, so it’s associated with his real email address and everything. And because it’s Jackson, Stiles’ username winds up being _knotmymouth_. And he can’t change it.

Seriously, he contacted the company and everything, but apparently usernames are permanent or something and they offered to cancel the account but... well. 

The thing is that Stiles gets more offers on the dumb joke profile Jackson set up than he does on his carefully crafted ‘real’ dating profiles. Like, a _lot_ more. Not that all of it (or even most of it) is worth responding to, but still. He feels gross just thinking about how Jackson actually made it work. Ew. But he can’t edit it if it’s working, even if he thinks it’s dumb and nothing he would ever put up there himself.

More importantly, Stiles finally has a date (not via his dating profile, thank you very much) with a smoking hot werewolf he met at the annual Sheriff’s Station BBQ. 

Derek Hale is an 11 out of 10 and Stiles has no idea how he got so lucky. He’s been trying on outfits all week getting ready for this date, so obviously it’s like two hours before he’s supposed to meet Derek when the other shoe drops. 

_Sorry, I have to cancel._

That’s it. That’s the whole text message. 

_Everything okay?_ Stiles texts back.

_Yes._

That’s it, just _yes_. Stiles huffs out a sigh and flops back on his bed before thumbing out a response. _Re-schedule?_

Three little dots appear on Derek’s side of the screen and then disappear.

Stiles waits. And waits. And waits. It’s an hour before he gets a response.

_I think it’s for the best if we don’t._

 

Derek is a romantic, okay? When he met Stiles it felt like his stomach was filled with butterflies. Stiles who was witty and smart and _beautiful_ and who smiled like maybe he felt the same way Derek did. And okay, yes, Derek believes in love at first sight but... but maybe he was wrong.

Because after a rough (”Awful, Derek, the word you’re looking for is abjectly awful,” Laura would say) dating history, he’s learned his lesson and googles his dates first now. He’d put it off this time until just before the date, and only then caved because Laura was nagging him so much.

She was right though. Derek stares at Stiles’ online dating profile and feels his heart sink. _KnotMyMouth_ it says below Stiles’ beautiful face. _I’m up for anything, especially if anything is an Alpha._

Stiles is a werewolf fetishist. 

Derek picks up his phone and sends the text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this were longer it would have a happy ending or whatever. Just assume they work it out and that Stiles isn't really a werewolf fetishist.


	11. Bonus Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another Saturday night in Beacon Hills, complete with a skin-stealing serial killer with a taste for the supernatural. No big deal.

It’s only after, when he’s got wet leaves and mud stuck to the ass of his jeans and it feels like his elbows are bleeding and he’s breathing hard into the forest floor, body hunched protectively over the child until someone gives him the all-clear that his brain catches up to everything and he starts to panic. 

In the moment? In the moment he’d been fine. Just another Saturday night in Beacon Hills, complete with a skin-stealing serial killer with a taste for the supernatural. No big deal.

But right then, after, when the whole forest is suddenly dead silent except for the pounding of his blood in his veins and his wet gasps for breath, then it kicks in and Stiles isn’t ashamed to say he freaks out a bit. 

The kid squirms in his arms until they’re face to face; sets one tiny hand on each of his cheeks and looks him right in the eye and says, “It’s okay now,” sounding older than she looks. She looks about four and waif-thin, her face over-taken by large eyes and a rosebud mouth. She’s something, he knows that much, but he’s not entirely sure what. 

“Thanks,” he manages, adds, “thank you,” and rolls off her to lay gasping on his back, looking up at the tree canopy. “Are you okay?” he asks after he gets his breath a little more under control.

“That she is well is thanks entirely to you,” says a third voice, and Stiles is up and crouched in front of the kid in a heart beat.

And that’s when he notices that other than him, other than the girl and this stranger - who bears a striking resemblance to her, actually - the forest is silent. Not quiet. Silent. As in not even the leaves are moving. There’s no wind. It’s like the whole world is on pause. Even the corpse is unnaturally still, somehow.

“While admirable, your defense of my child is no longer required,” the woman says. She has that same, strange other-wordliness to her, which seems like a good sign, but Stiles doesn’t relax until the girl steps around him and joins the woman of her own free will. 

“Glad I could help,” Stiles finally settles on, rising to his feet. “Cute kid you’ve got there.”

“We owe you a debt of gratitude,” she replies, resting one hand on the kid’s head. “One favour. Name your wish.”

Stiles isn’t stupid. He’s read every fairy tale there is at this point, and every book he could get his hands on through Peter or Derek or Deaton or Lydia. “Her being unharmed is reward enough,” he says carefully. Gifts tend to come with price tags.

He doesn’t expect the tinkling laughter the two produce; more like the sound of a set of tiny bells than any noise a human throat could approximate. “Rest easy,” she says. “I give you my word there will be no trickery, no hidden cost or twisting of your wish. Only one wish granted without strings.” 

Something about the way she says it, about the way the little girl is so comfortable in her presence makes him believe her. And his first thought is his mom, alive and healthy again, or never sick in the first place but--

But if that were the case he’d only wind up being a disappointment to two parents instead of one. But if the Hales had never died, if the fire had never happened, then.. then maybe Derek’s life would be better, and Scott would never be bitten, and Lydia wouldn’t have PTSD and, just maybe, Stiles wouldn’t be a total disappointment to his dad, either. Maybe. 

The woman looks down at her daughter before Stiles can even give voice to the thought. “What say you?” she asks; crouches down to hear something the kid whispers into her ear before nodding, turning back to Stiles. “Consider the other a gift from my child directly,” she says, and that’s the last thing he remembers before he blacks out.


	12. Pen Pals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> AU where Derek and Stiles are pen pals or something only Stiles doesn't know what Derek looks like cuz Derek doesn't want Stiles to like him for his looks or whatever and Stiles is cool with that he likes Derek because they like the same stuff and Derek is funny and like a total nerd and that's the image of Derek that Stiles has created in his mind you know like a dorky little scrawny fellow or something but he's still in love until they decide to meet and Derek is super excited only Stiles 1/2
> 
> pale-silver-comb answered:  
> Stiles doesn’t give him a second glance cuz he’s meeting his dorky ass online boyfriend for the first time and he’s in loooove and the sexy dude with eyebrows in the coffee shop is not important right now this is until the sexy dude with eyebrows introduces himself as Derek and Stiles loses his shit.

Stiles has a pretty good idea of what Derek looks like. They’ve been writing to each other since first year, when the professor for his Epistolary Novels class (which was supposed to be one of the lightest workload arts credit fills - a lie) assigned them all a pen-pal at a University on the other side of the country. 

And sure, Stiles had thought it was dumb, but it turned out he got paired with someone awesome: Derek. Derek who was actually really, really passionate about the epistolary form because letters and diaries were one of the best ways for historians to learn about the past. 

There are whole cities we wouldn’t be able to find if it weren’t for people writing letters! He’d written, and then followed it up with a long string of examples of things they only knew today because of letters. It was a nerdy ramble after Stiles’ own heart.

He was in love. 

(With Derek’s brain.)

They kept writing, and it seemed Derek was just as surprised by their easy conversations, spaced out by the agonizing stretch of time between each honest-to-god snail mail delivery. And normally Stiles was more of an instant gratification kind of guy, but there was something about the anticipation that made the whole thing feel more intimate. 

So much so that after the class finished he just ...kept writing. And Derek, because he was such a nerd (and great guy) kept writing back. 

They did eventually switch to email and texting and IMs, and as they did Stiles developed a fuller picture of Derek: he had six (!!) older sisters and was the baby of the family, and they teased him constantly. He’d always been a huge history nerd, and but the kind of nerd who wasn’t great with computers. He really preferred physical books where Stiles read almost everything on his phone. 

What a nerd, Stiles often thought in the best way. Fondly. He was probably skinnier than Stiles, even, with glasses. Part of the assignment had been to not google their pen pals, so that everything they learned about them would come through their letters, and Stiles had (for once) followed that rule, and then sort of forgotten to ever look Derek up after the assignment ended. But had a whole mental image of Derek, and to be honest, it wasn’t that far off from skinny pre-serum Steve Rogers, which wasn’t Stiles’ usual type, but, like the hero in an Austen novel, he had slowly come to know Derek over the past few years: his allergy to shellfish (for which he’d been hospitalized once, resulting in a gap between letters), how much he wanted a cat (but his building didn’t allow pets), how he was learning to knit so he could make something for his mom for christmas this year. 

He’d actually received a package from Derek a few weeks ago including a lopsided scarf. My first effort, so don’t laugh too hard at me, Derek had written in the letter. It had been awhile since he’d gotten physical mail from Derek, and Stiles found he had missed his nerdy, perfect handwriting with its unnecessary curly-cues. Who even uses actual full cursive any more? Doesn’t everyone just sort of half-ass cursive and print into a mish mash of convenience and lack of practice? Except Derek, obviously. Toward the bottom of the letter it got a little bit more cramped, almost as though he’d been nervous but determined to fit in these last details:

I’ll be in California at the end of the month for thanksgiving. We should meet. 

Stiles, ecstatic, had texted him back immediately, just a series of !!!!!!!!!!!!!! followed by thanks for the scarf and arranging where and when they could meet up. Derek suggested a coffee shop downtown. I’ll wear my new scarf, Stiles texted back, so you’ll recognize me. Derek sent an honest to god ascii smiley face back, :) , like he didn’t know how to use emoji. 

What a nerd. 

The day of, he’s nervous. He changes his clothes six times and can’t stop fussing with his hair. They didn’t say it was a date, but it, it feels like a date, like they’ve been building up to this for so long. And he honestly doesn’t care what Derek looks like. He loves what a good person and total goober he is. He’s had more than a few day dreams of getting a cozy apartment and a pair of cats and making out on the couch with Derek. ...He might be a little over-invested.

Which is how Stiles finds himself in his local coffee shop, fussing with the ends of the lop-sided scarf, jerking around every time the bells over the door chime. This time it’s just some super hot dude - normally totally Stiles’ type, with the scruff and the broad shoulders and the muscles - definitely not Derek. He turns back to his hot chocolate and breathes deeply, trying to calm down. 

It’s just Derek. He knows Derek. Derek knows him. It’s going to be fine. 

The bells chime again and Stiles jerks around, again, heart right back to rabbiting away in his chest, but it’s a mom and her daughter. The hot dude is looking at him curiously. Stiles must be really conspicuous, and now he’s embarrassing himself in front of sexy strangers. Oh god. 

He hunches over his drink and tries again to calm down, to focus. He wants to be cool when Derek gets there. Make a good first real world impression. 

Should he switch seats so he’s facing the door? That would’ve been smart. But if he switches now, when Derek sits down the seat will be warm and is that weird? It’s probably weird. 

“Hey,” someone says. Tall, dark and sexy has a surprisingly soft voice, and is (for mystery reasons) standing beside his table and smiling at him. And Stiles’ heart sinks. If this had happened to him before he’d fallen in love with Derek’s perfectionist penmanship and encyclopedic knowledge of ancient Rome, he’d have climbed this hot dude like a tree. But. 

“Sorry,” Stiles says, “I’m waiting for someone.” 

The guy arches one strong, strong eyebrow at him. “I sure hope so,” he says. “My sisters teased me right out the door when I said I was coming to see you.” 

“See ....me?” It feels like the machinery of his brain has slowed right down, like time is stretching out as Stiles adds two and two together and gets five. “...Derek?”

“Hi,” he says flirtatiously. Flirtatiously. Derek’s eyes honest to god crinkle at the edges. He looks like an ad in a men’s fashion magazine. He’s a broad, built lumberjack fantasy and there’s no way this is his Derek. 

Stiles squints angrily. “When did Cicero write to Atticus?” he demands. 

“Between 68 and 43 BC,” Derek replies, looking confused even as he slides into the seat opposite Stiles, apparently tired of waiting. “Did I do something wrong, Stiles?”

“I don’t like being punked,” Stiles says, leaning back and crossing his arms. “There’s no way you’re Derek. My Derek--” he stumbles a little over that but then, yeah, “My Derek,” he continues, “is a nerd! Not a super model!”

The guy actually looks surprised, like no one’s ever called him a super model before - as if - and then makes this endearing, shyly pleased expression, “Stiles, it’s me,” he says softly. “How can I prove it to you?”

His brain scrambles for a second before latching on to the perfect solution. He pulls his crumpled receipt out of his jacket pocket and a sharpie from the other and slides them across the table. “Write something,” he says. No way can this model-actor-whatever he is duplicate Derek’s weird handwriting. 

“Anything?” he asks, taking the sharpie. 

“Anything,” Stiles confirms. 

The guy writes for a minute and then slides it back across the table. 

Wonder woman is way better than Batman it says in Derek’s perfect nerd writing. 

“...Derek?” Stiles asks, voice small. 

“So I hear you think I look like a super model,” Derek says resting his chin in one hand with a devastating smile. 

“Oh my god. Uhhhhh, sorry?”

“You’re a lot cuter in person than your photos online,” Derek says. “I was pretty nervous coming over here - more than I was already anyway,” he adds.

“You googled me?! Dude! That’s against the rules!”

Derek rolls his eyes. “That class ended two years ago, Stiles. Of course I googled you.”

“Shit,” Stiles fumbles for his phone and thumbs open his browser. “Shit,” he says again when under Derek Hale the pictures match. 

“I thought you already knew,” Derek says quietly. 

“I thought you were basically skinny Steve,” Stiles says on auto-pilot. “But you’re like Captain America. You-- why-- how--”

Derek reaches across the table and envelopes Stiles’ hand in both of his, thumb stroking along the back in slow, even sweeps. “Let’s start over,” he says. “I’m Derek, and I love history and my favourite superhero is Wonder Woman.”

“I’m Stiles and I’m an idiot,” he replies. 

When Derek laughs, the eye crinkles come back. 

Stiles is going to die of sexiness overload. 

(He doesn’t, but Derek never stops making fun of him, not even when they really do get a cozy apartment and two cats and make out on the couch most evenings.)


End file.
